


O Tempora! O Mores!

by GillO



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillO/pseuds/GillO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles has a cherished music collection which Oz at least appreciates. It's not Oz who visits and patronises him this time, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Tempora! O Mores!

Giles tried to get with the groove, he really did. Even though he was forced to acknowledge ruefully that just thinking in language like that proved how very far he was from current trends. Back in his days of youth he’d known where it was all at; he knew the right music, hung with the right people, even pulled a few girls. He had a good education, which made the pose of stuffiness very easy to pull off, and mixing with the likes of Travers and Wyndham-Pryce senior had given him useful role-models. 

In California with a bunch of anarchic children he’d fallen into the role of elderly mentor a bit too easily, it was true. They were so very young, so very reckless, so intensely vulnerable beneath the bravado, that he’d found himself becoming more and more of a Gandalf or Dumbledore to them all. So be it.

Enough was, however, very much enough. He’d (more or less) accepted Spike as part of the gang when he’d reappeared over a year after his ostensible flaming death. He’d (more or less) accepted that Spike would move in with Buffy and did his best to ignore their more sugary interactions. He had very nearly succeeded in that. Honestly.

This was the final straw, though. Spike had sauntered in, arm draped over Buffy’s shoulder, and insisted on inspecting the Giles music collection. Precious vinyls by bands of his youth had been flicked through, turned over, rejected. Of course he had no punk – what sort of moron did Spike think he was? Bleached evil vampires liked it. That sort of proved his point. Prog rock had been his thing, and electric folk. OK, he’d flirted with The Specials and Two-Tone, but none of that shouty stuff without even pretence at melody. He’d had taste then, and kept some of the things he’d grown away from out of sentiment and tradition. What exactly was wrong with that?

No, he was not going to argue with _Spike_ of all people about music. He was wrong. Pretty much by definition, and arguing back would simply give the vampire thing a platform. So Giles just sat. Seethed a bit too, but it was all entirely under control.

Yes, this really, really was the final, final straw. The moment when Spike smirked at _his_ Slayer and said, “Told you so, love. Nothing even written in this century. And don’t even think about asking what he’s downloaded recently. Don’t want to confuse the old feller, do we? Don’t think he’s moved beyond vinyl yet.”

If Spike hadn’t been three times his age ( _and with super vampire strength_ ) he would have punched his face in for that. Really he would. Honestly.


End file.
